The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  Unbidden, a long-buried memory surfaced, of three-year-old Cassie, seated at this very table, spooning cereal into her mouth and asking casually, ‘Did me and Jess have the same mummy and daddy?’

  Like her sister, she’d been told at an early age that she was adopted.

  Fleur had answered sharply, ‘Of course you have – we’re your mummy and daddy!’

  Cassie shook her head, ‘No, I meant before!’

  There’d been a tense silence, then Owen had answered quietly, ‘No, darling, you didn’t, but Mummy’s right: you both have us now.’

  Which, thank God, had seemed to satisfy her, and – though they’d not known at the time – what seemed a miracle had already occurred and Fleur was finally, unbelievably pregnant with her own naturally conceived child.

  Even some twelve years later, Fleur knew that part of her joy at moving to St Catherine’s had been because it offered an escape from her incubus. Now, in the shadowed kitchen, she gave a brief, bitter laugh, startling Minty from his nap; for the Barlows had immediately changed their long-time holiday arrangements in order to maintain the contact.

  And now that her reminiscences had come full circle, the new and present crisis that had caused her sleeplessness reared its head again: the Barlow offspring now knew the reason behind their parents’ link with the Tempests. What would they make of it – and, more worryingly, would they attempt to contact Cassie?

  It seemed the time she’d fervently hoped would never come had, after all, arrived. She would have to reveal the truth to her daughter – and therefore also to Jess and Verity. The thought filled her not only with dread but with fear. Would family life ever be the same again?

  ELEVEN

  Sydney, Australia. March 2016

  Well, she’d done it! She’d actually done it, and he had no idea!

  Mel sat back in her seat, mentally ticking off the tasks she’d completed: tenancy of her flat ended and her belongings in the trunk in the hold of the plane; bank account closed, social media account deleted, new mobile, personal documents destroyed. Nothing left to give him the means to find her. And in a little under twenty-four hours she’d be back in the UK. A fresh start on the other side of the world! Her only regret was not being able to hold a leaving party for her friends; once settled, she’d send a joint email.

  She glanced out of the window at the final preparations for flight, her thoughts drifting back over the eight years she’d spent in Australia – the Beaufort Hotel with Barb, the beach parties and barbecues, the various men she’d hooked up with – Steve, Harry, Jack. And Bruce.

  Bruce. She’d never considered herself in love with him. Even in the early days it was his drive, his single-mindedness and business acumen that attracted her – and, of course, their insatiable appetite for each other. That was a bonus, but it wasn’t love.

  How had it all gone wrong? Well, if she wanted to trace back the sequence of events there was no better time to do it – long hours ahead of her, with no interruptions.

  The loudspeaker issued instructions for take-off and safety procedure was being demonstrated in the aisle but she tuned them out, settling down to an in-depth analysis of the last three years.

  It had been ten days after their coffee together that Suki tapped on her door, put her head round it and informed her that one of the guests wished to see her in room 303.

  Damn! she’d thought, looking up from the schedules she was revising. What was the complaint this time? Reluctantly abandoning her lists, she went up to the third floor and tapped on the door. And Bruce Marriott opened it.

  Taken entirely by surprise, she simply looked at him. After a moment his lips twitched and he stood to one side. ‘Please come in,’ he said.

  Still unnerved by his unexpected appearance, she moved past him into the room and he closed the door behind her, indicating one of the easy chairs. In silence she seated herself and he perched on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Sorry!’ he said. ‘That wasn’t fair of me. But I need to see you and I didn’t think you’d come if I’d suggested meeting somewhere.’

  ‘So you decided to ambush me?’ she accused, finding her voice at last.

  ‘In a word, yes, since it’s important. I have a proposition to put to you.’

  Her eyes must have widened, because he laughed. ‘No, not that! Seriously, I was most impressed by your obvious ambition and the breadth of your current responsibilities, which, I must confess, I went to some length to check.’

  He held up a hand at her instinctive movement of protest. ‘I’m not known for being impulsive – quite the reverse – but I also pride myself on knowing a good thing when I see one.’ That quirky smile again. ‘You said you were looking for a change, so I decided to go out on a limb and called a board meeting. And after some pretty heated discussion, it was agreed that subject to a successful interview, we’d like to offer you a position.’

  He named a figure considerably higher than her present salary and went on to explain where he felt she’d be of most value to his company. ‘We could call it a trial period if you prefer,’ he ended, ‘but it would be a job description tailored specifically to your skills and would give you a more or less free hand to exercise your initiative. We’re about to widen our range, as I think I mentioned. We could make that your project and seriously consider any ideas you come up with. Obviously this is a very informal approach but if you’d agree to consider it, we would—’

  ‘Yes!’ she said.

  He stared at her. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Yes!’ she repeated. ‘If I’m formally offered the job, I’ll take it.’

  For a second longer he gazed at her, then his face broke into the smile that had first attracted her. ‘Well!’ he said. ‘That was easier than I expected!’

  ‘It sounds like just the challenge I’m looking for. Of course, I’d have to work out my notice, but I can’t see—’

  He interrupted her in his turn. ‘That’s fantastic, Mel! Look, it might be only four o’clock but I think this calls for a toast. After all, we met over a glass of champagne; it’s only right it should seal our agreement!’

  ‘There’s still the interview to go through,’ she reminded him, but he waved a dismissive hand, went to the minibar and took out a bottle and flutes.

  ‘Are you really staying here?’ she asked, watching him.

  ‘Just for tonight. It had to be bona fide.’

  He poured the drinks, expertly guiding the foaming liquid into the glasses, and handed her one. And as their fingers touched electricity sparked between them. This, she thought, raising her glass in response to his, could work to her advantage in more ways than one.

  The next month or so passed quickly. Having succeeded in impressing the board of Marriott Interiors, Mel duly handed in her notice and began conducting interviews with applicants hoping to be her successor.

  When her plans became known, however, several of her friends were dubious.

  ‘Bruce Marriott has a name for being ruthless,’ more than one person warned her. ‘Don’t be fooled by all that surface charm!’

  ‘He’s a businessman. I’d expect nothing less,’ she retorted. ‘Come to that, I’m pretty ruthless myself!’

  ‘You’re sure you know what you’re doing?’ they persisted.

  ‘Never been more sure,’ she replied.

  And she was. Knowing the hotel was due for its three-yearly refurbishment, she had immediately approached the management and suggested they ask Marriott’s for a quote. She’d seen enough, during her tour of the premises following her interview, to have a good idea of the quality and spread of what was on offer, and to be impressed by it. Her head was crowded with ideas for widening its appeal and she was impatient to discuss them with Bruce.

  However, she had neither seen nor heard from him since her formal acceptance of the position, and when she phoned to speak to him his secretary informed her he was unavailable. It was a rude reminder that large though this new job might loom in her life, to him she w
as simply a prospective new employee with potential, who had yet to prove her worth. That, she swore to herself, would change.

  And once she started working there, it did. Slowly and discreetly she set herself up to be indispensable; if she suspected an employee of shirking or being offhand with clients, she subtly made it known, sometimes resulting in dismissal. Consequently she was unpopular with junior members of the firm, but the more senior increasingly asked her opinion on a variety of matters. The acceptance of their quote by the Beaufort Hotel was another significant feather in her cap.

  One of the initiatives she put forward soon after her arrival was to make better use of the ground floor store rooms and offices. At the moment samples of wallpaper and soft furnishings were displayed, artistically enough, in rolls and panels in the main showroom, but she made the point that they’d be shown to better effect if incorporated into actual room settings. The underused offices could be turned into replica bedrooms, sitting and dining rooms, presenting materials to much greater advantage, and the displays could be regularly updated.

  And this would be still further enhanced, she suggested, if part of the planned expansion encompassed liaising with local furniture makers, china manufacturers and carpet warehouses to offer a complete package – tables laid with attractive modern china and cutlery, beds made up with luxurious covers, all available via Marriott Interiors.

  After a considerable amount of prevarication, in-depth discussions, financial haggling and the emphatic proviso that any arrangement with Marriott’s should not be exclusive, the respective businesses agreed to collaborate on a trial basis, and work began on the structural alterations and redecorations required.

  During this time she’d seen little of Bruce. Occasionally they had passed in a corridor and nodded to each other, or he’d come into the office to confirm some point. He was unfailingly pleasant but very much the boss and she bided her time, suspecting he was waiting till he’d proved to the board that his investment in her had been validated.

  She must have passed the test, because as she was about to leave the office one evening she received a text.

  Since we’ve reached the end of the trial period which, incidentally, you passed with flying colours, I think a little celebration is in order. Dinner tomorrow at the Random Club, eight thirty?

  Mel allowed herself a small, satisfied smile before texting back. Thank you. See you there.

  That was when it really began. Over the meal in the candle-lit dining room the sexual tension that had existed between them since New Year and been ruthlessly suppressed intensified to such a degree that Mel wondered if they’d make it to the end of the meal. Conversation became sporadic and finally, abandoning their half-drunk cups of coffee, he got to his feet, muttering, ‘Let’s get out of here!

  She didn’t own a car and had arrived by taxi but Bruce’s BMW was in the club car park.

  ‘You’ll have to direct me,’ he said as he started the engine. After negotiating busy streets for some minutes they drew up in front of her block of flats. Pre-empting any invitation, he took her arm as they hurried into the building and up in the lift, waiting with mounting impatience as she searched in her bag for her key. She had barely closed the door behind them when he spun her round and began to kiss her, continuing to do so as they made their way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them.

  For a while nothing changed outwardly at the office. She continued to liaise with the firms involved in the new venture, suggesting fabrics and fittings with which to furnish the proposed new rooms, and Bruce maintained his normal routine. But most evenings he called at her flat on the way home.

  Gradually they began to work together more openly, going in tandem to view equipment, meeting clients and discussing their requirements, where, he acknowledged, her suggestions and advice were much appreciated.

  Then the time came when Bruce was invited to a dinner for leading businessmen, and asked Mel to accompany him.

  ‘My wife’s tied up with the kids and not really interested in business,’ he told everyone, though Mel thought privately she’d have been interested in the dinner, had she been asked.

  After that occasion they were regarded, in the business world at least, as a couple, and invitations sent to the firm began to be addressed to Mr Bruce Marriott and Ms Melanie Hunter. Increasingly she also accompanied him on social occasions both public and private – to the races, to the opera and theatre. By this time the replica rooms had been launched, and their impact was greater than anyone had foreseen. Marriott Interiors’ reputation, not to mention profits, continued to rise.

  But those months had not been without controversy. The first occasion was soon after they’d come together, when Mel had invited Bruce to dinner at her flat. In those early days she was still anxious to seal their relationship, and had made every effort to impress him, poring for days over recipes and for hours over preparing and cooking the meal. She’d even, though she ridiculed herself, indulged in a new dress for the occasion.

  And he never came.

  For a while she’d convinced herself he’d been delayed – though he could surely have phoned? – but her impatience and anxiety escalated as the hands of the clock crept round. Pride prevented her from contacting him, so at ten o’clock the congealed food was tipped into the waste bin, a significant amount of the opened bottle of wine consumed, and she retired to bed angry, baffled and worried. Was this a deliberate snub, or had he genuinely forgotten? One reason was hardly preferable to the other. Had she congratulated herself too soon over her influence on him?

  In the office the next day no mention was made of the missed date. Hurt and angry, she avoided Bruce where possible and sent her apologies for a scheduled meeting of senior management. She left the office slightly early to avoid seeing him, wondering if their brief collaboration was over.

  But he arrived at the flat as usual. ‘What the hell was that all about?’ he demanded, the moment she opened the door.

  ‘What, exactly?’

  ‘You know damn well what. All but cutting me all day, then not attending the meeting.’

  ‘I might ask the same of you,’ she said coldly.

  He frowned. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You were expected here for dinner last night.’

  His face cleared. ‘Oh, is that what it was all about? Well, I’m sorry. It slipped my mind.’

  Her voice was dangerously calm. ‘Am I to take that as an apology?’

  He made a dismissive gesture. ‘Take it how you like. You of all people know I’ve a lot on my mind at the moment.’

  ‘You arrogant bastard!’ she said slowly.

  His eyes widened, then flashed as his face reddened. ‘Perhaps you should remember who you’re talking to!’

  ‘Believe me, I’m only too aware! I went to a lot of trouble, not to mention expense, over that meal, and the least you could do is show some sign of remorse! Or is common courtesy too much to expect?’

  ‘You little—’

  For a moment she actually thought he was going to hit her and took a quick step back. Instead he seized hold of her and started to kiss her ferociously while she fought to free herself until desire overcame her resistance.

  That, though their affair continued unabated, was the forerunner of many such outbursts. Once, when Bruce was out of the office, Mel’s agreement to a course of action was sought and given, which resulted in fireworks on his return. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, usurping my authority?’ And so on. And as with all their disagreements, it ended in sex taking the form of a punishment. She had to accept that two strong personalities were bound to clash, and the continual seesaw of the relationship gave it added spice.

  Sometimes, in the relaxed aftermath that followed lovemaking, they indulged in pillow talk, he with less caution than was perhaps warranted, and Mel tucked away various snippets that might, in less companionable times, come in useful.

  And how that had paid off! she thought now, accepting a tray of food from th
e flight attendant. When the morning papers were delivered tomorrow, one such snippet would make the front pages. Then, perhaps, he’d regret how he’d treated her.

  Starting on her meal, she resumed her reflections. One thing she hadn’t anticipated, she admitted now, was that although not in love with him, she was far from immune from sexual jealousy, and as time wore on found herself, to her chagrin, increasingly on edge if any woman appeared to be paying him attention, or – worse – he seemed interested, even fleetingly, in someone else. His wife of course didn’t count; their paths crossed only infrequently and Mel seldom thought of her.

  Then came the day that, though neither of them realized it, heralded the end of their relationship. They were on their way back to the office after visiting a client, and she’d paused to glance in a jeweller’s window.

  ‘Isn’t your birthday coming up?’ Bruce enquired. ‘Now’s your chance to choose your present!’

  She turned to him in surprise. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Of course. It will save me having to rack my brains!’

  She turned back to the window and almost at once pointed to a slim gold bracelet studded with turquoise. ‘That would be absolutely perfect!’ she said.

  ‘Expensive tastes!’ he commented, but waved away her embarrassed suggestion of an alternative.

  ‘Just teasing!’ he assured her, and they went on their way.

  Shortly after that, though, his visits to the flat became noticeably fewer, and it grew harder to conceal her suspicions. And this time, as she discovered, they were well grounded. They came to a head when someone in the office asked how she’d enjoyed a play at the local theatre, and on hearing that she’d not yet seen it, the girl had flushed and stammered, ‘Oh, I thought – someone saw Bruce there, and I just—’ She’d floundered into silence and fled.